The Boy Who Blocked His Own Shot
by peyote-angels
Summary: Just because people expect this of you, doesn’t make it right. You deserve better then what people expect. -FINAL CHAPTER UP. NOW COMPLETE.- -Ryan/Pam. Season five.-
1. She's A Lady

**Title: The Boy Who Blocked His Own Shot.  
Summary: All I have left are bad habits and a pack of cigarettes. I'm beginning to feel dizzy and your words are reassuring. Please, stay a while.  
Note: So, I've been working on this for a few days. It takes place directly after Michael Scott Paper Company. Usually, I like writing Ryan when he's a temp and with Kelly, but I dunno, I got a lot of inspiration from this. I know there are like, no Pam/Ryan stories and I'm not sure this will even be one. It focuses mostly on Ryan and his issues, but Pam's in there a bit. I might decide to take it a different direction and if I do, I'll let you know. Feedback is greatly appreciated. **

* * *

Our elbows keep bumping as she's writing and I'm typing. This "office" is too small and Michael's gone so it's just us and it's quiet and her perfume makes me sneeze. "Bless you," she says through gritted teeth because it's the third time. I sniff, ignoring her, my fingers moving faster along the keyboard. She shifts, writing more quickly, her shoulder facing me. My knee is bouncing because I'm on edge and it's only 11:30 in the morning but I'd kill for a quick fix. The aggravation radiating off her is intoxicating; my desperation makes me dizzy.

I finish typing up the spreadsheet and close the document, opening Firefox. I don't care that this is technically work; I open up YouTube anyway and find the link my buddy told me about. She reaches for her coffee and I start the video, a loud screeching noise coming from the laptop. She jumps about a mile, knocking over her mug, coffee spilling all over the table. "Shit!" I yelp, grabbing the laptop. She jumps up and grabs my jacket, throwing it on the mess.

"Pam, that's mine!" I shout, leaping up. She flails her hands about like she does when she's panicked.

"What else was I supposed to do?" she cries, beginning to mop the spill up and I groan. She picks the sopping material up, carefully hanging it over a visible pipe against the wall. "If you're going to watch that stuff, at least have the decency to use headphones! And you shouldn't be on YouTube anyway; we have a lot of work to do, Ryan!"

"Well excuse me if I need to take a break once and a while," I retort, glaring at her. "If you hate being down here with me so much, why don't you go back upstairs and work at your receptionist desk and talk to Jim all day? Don't worry, you won't be missed!"

Her eyes are livid as they stare me down. "First you're a temp, then you're a Wall Street brat. And now you're just a broke, pathetic druggie who has stupid blond hair and used to work at the bowling alley! The only reason Michael hired you is because he's half in love with you!"

I slam the laptop on the table, leaning forward. "You used to be really quiet and nice but now you're just a bitch. I liked you better when you didn't talk." I expected that to shut her up but she just plows on.

"For someone who attended business school, you sure are an idiot. I bet your parents are just so proud," she spits. "You have to be the most arrogant person I've ever met, Ryan. Seriously. Pull it together. You aren't in high school anymore, this isn't a game. You're just such a… jerk! All you care about is yourself!"

Her face is red and she's panting. A bobby pin fell out of her hair while she was yelling. Her eyes are bright. And I swallow because she managed to sum my life up in about 30 seconds and it's not something I'm proud of. I feel the colour drain from my face and the room seems smaller then usual and she's saying my name, her face scared.

The office door opens and Michael booms in, his singing breaking off when he sees us. Before he can ask, I turn around, my fingers in my pocket, gripping my pack of Marb Reds. "I'm taking my break," I mutter. And I'm gone.

* * *

The air outside is cold. The wind makes it hard to light the cigarette but I finally manage to. The smoke feels good in my lungs so I hold it there as long as I can. I haven't eaten all day and I didn't have extra cash for lunch so I suck on the cigarette as if it might save me and maybe it will. Maybe something will. The wind blows my exhales away. I close my eyes, resting my forehead against my fist. I had left New York. But I didn't leave behind the drugs. Tonight I would get my fix and I could forget this shit day.

I hear the front doors of the building open and I hug my legs tighter to my chest. I see her briskly walk into the parking lot, her heels tapping along. "Ryan?" she asks, spotting me. I lean forward again, staring at the bumper of a random car while she sits down next to me. "Hey," she's saying as I take a drag. "Hey," I reply slowly, smoke lingering from my mouth. I don't try to breathe away from her. She tries to ignore it.

"Listen, Ryan. I'm really sorry about what I said. Back in the office." She pauses and I look down at the asphalt. "I was really out of line. You aren't pathetic." The silence settles between us and I finish the cigarette, crushing the butt under my heel. "You can still be arrogant, though," she adds after a moment. I look over at her and she has a small smile on her pink lips.

"Yeah?" I ask, cocking my head to the side. "Yeah. And I still hate your blond hair." I grimace darkly, which slowly turns into somewhat of a grin. "That all?" I croak and she shrugs.

"I'll think of more the next time you piss me off." I give a small laugh and I feel her petite hand on my back. I glance over at her and I see her blush, her hand moving back into her lap.

"I'll see you inside," she says, giving me a small smile before she stands, running a hand over her skirt. I nod and her heels are tapping against the ground once more.

* * *

I rub my eyes, glancing downwards at my watch. It's 4:50. I can't wait to leave. She's still sitting close to me, not that she has a choice. But we keep our elbows down and I mute the laptop. Michael looks skeptical about our politeness but seems to think it was his corner idea, so he only beams. "All right, team!" he says, looking at us from his desk, "why don't you take off early. Leave those reports there, Pam, I'll look over them."

I stand, mumbling a goodbye to no one in particular and make sure I have my cell and smokes before walking out the door. I manage to make my way out of the building and expect to see the familiar grey car out front, but I don't. Sighing, I drop down on my lunch time curb, fidgeting for a cigarette, but I resist, resting my chin on my knuckles. I hear the building door open and hear her come outside.

"Oh," Pam says, stopping and seeing me, "hey." I nod to her, glancing up briefly. "Mind if I sit with you?" she asks. "Jim hasn't gotten out yet," she continues, sitting next to me. I nod once more and hope my ride gets here before him. Jim used to be all right. But even after I apologized to him, he still was an ass. I just ignore him now. It isn't worth it anymore.

"So," she says airily and I blink, looking at her. "Oh!" she exclaims before I can reply. She turns next to her and picks up my jacket. I didn't see that she had it before. "I tried to clean it out the best I could," she's saying, handing it to me. "It still smells a little bit like coffee. I'm sorry I used it to clean up the mess." I shrug, slipping it on because it's chilly. "Thanks," I murmur and she nods.

It's quiet but not awkward like it usually is during work. I can hear her breathing and I see her fix her hair out of the corner of my eye. It makes me feel a bit bad for calling her a bitch. I open my mouth to say her name but someone beats me to it. We both jump slightly as Jim looms over us and she quickly stands, leaving the spot next to me empty.

"Hey!" she says, her voice high. I look at my shoes because I know Jim's staring at me. "Nice hair, Ry, it really suits you," he says mockingly. I let out a quiet breath, looking up. She's biting her lip, looking at me and I feel dizzy. I run my fingers through my hair but my face flushes when I see that she's still watching me.

"So… are you ready?" Jim asks her and I become interested with my fingernails. "Actually, I'm going to stick around," I hear her say. "I'll see you at home though?" He makes some 'uh' sounds before finally muttering 'sure.' The air is lighter when he walks away and I don't even hear another hair joke.

"Sorry about him," she says, sitting back down. "He's just messing around." I stare at her for a second and she blushes.

"Its fine, Pam, I know Jim doesn't like me. And it's cool. I deserve it. I was a dick to him when I was in New York." She gives me a sympathetic smile but doesn't say anything and I'm glad. My watch tells me its 5:25 and I know my ride isn't coming. I sigh, rubbing my eyes once more. "Um, I think I'm just going to end up taking the bus," I say standing. She looks up at me before also getting to her feet. She looks nervous and I feel stupid. "But I'll see you tomorrow, all right?" I add, giving her a smile.

"Um, Ryan," she says, adjusting her purse, "why don't I give you a ride home?" I look at her. "I mean, it's probably along the way…" I clear my throat, shoving my hands in my pockets.

"I dunno, you should probably get home." I can only imagine how much Jim will kill me if he hears his fiancé gave _me_ a ride home. "No, really," she says, somewhat eagerly, "its fine. Come on, Ryan, taking the bus sucks." I sigh, looking at her for a moment.

"Fine," I say eventually, "all right."

She smiles, turning to walk to her car and dutifully, I follow along.

* * *

Her car smells good and the heat is warming me up. She turns the radio on low. I took outside the window. I give her directions to my apartment, feeling slightly ashamed; everyone knows the street I live on is in the sketchier side of town, but it's all I can afford. She doesn't say anything, though, just smiles and drives.

"You know, I didn't mean what I said earlier. I like it when you talk," I say into the silence. "Yelling, though, not so much." She laughs sweetly and I can't repress my grin. "Yeah, I know. I don't like yelling either."

I nod knowingly. "It doesn't suit you." She scrunches her nose slightly, grinning.

"So what do you want me to talk about?" she asks and I pause, considering.

"Why did you go with Michael?" A shadow crosses over her face but it passes.

"I think I wanted to prove to myself that I could leave and I could get out of my comfort zone." She shrugs. "I wanted to see how spontaneous I could be."

"Acting on impulse isn't always the best idea," I mutter bitterly. She gives me a sad smile and it makes me feel weird, like she knows what I do in the bathroom with glass and dollar bills. "But, starting a paper company with Michael Scott is definitely getting out of your comfort zone. Out of anyone's really. And it's spontaneous, for sure."

She throws her head back slightly, laughing. "Yeah, for sure." It's quiet for a moment. "OK, my turn," she says, the moment passing. I brace myself. "Why were you with Kelly for so long?" I groan, narrowing my eyes. But she gives me a look, a stubborn look, and I know I have to talk.

"Kelly… she's amazing. And I realize that now. But I didn't before and she deserves so much more then what I can give her." I take a breath. "Sometimes I wish I could go back to being the temp."

I glance at her and she has a grin on her lips. "What?" I ask, face flushing, knowing I had said way too much. She just shakes her head and I let out a sigh. "My turn," I grumble and she gives a quiet laugh. "Um. What's your favourite colour?" She looks at me and I shrug.

"I really like yellow," she says simply and I nod. "What's with the easy question?" I grin slightly. "Just curious. I'm too tired to think anyway."

"All right," she says and I see my building come into view. "But tomorrow I start." She pulls into the parking lot.

"Tomorrow?" I ask, looking at her. She nods. "Yep." I shift in my seat.

"Pam, its fine. What you said in the office, whether you meant it or not, it's cool. I'm fine." She looks a bit shocked but recovers.

"No, Ryan, it's not that. We're going to be working together and it's going to be rough. We should at least try to get along, you know?" I look at her for a second.

"So. Lunch. The curb? Tomorrow?" she grins and stops in front of my building, and I unbuckle my seat belt.

"Definitely."


	2. My Blue Heaven

**Title: The Boy Who Blocked His Own Shot. [Chapter Two.]**

**Summary: It's just like, sometimes, she makes my life not suck as much as it usually does.**

**Authors note: Well, haven't gotten any reviews. I think this will end up being a Ryan/Pam. Um, if you haven't watched the most recent episodes of the Office, don't read this. It'll ruin things for you. Especially the first chapter. Anyway. Yeah. Reviews would be greatly appreciated.**

**

* * *

  
**

I hate how excited I am about lunch. I have friends. I'm not desperate for more. I mean, Pam won't hit me up for sex or cash and that's cool. I sigh, adjusting my knapsack. I pull the building door open, the artificial air cool on my skin.

"… and then Dwight started singing on the new girls' car and we all just died." I stop, seeing them, fingers intertwined. The building door clanks shut behind me and they both turn around.

"Hey, Ryan!" Pam says, smiling. "Michael's all ready in the office. Want to get on?" she asks as Jim pulls her onto the elevator.

"No, it's cool," I say, the doors closing anyway. "I'll just take the stairs.

And I do.

* * *

6 flights of stairs later, I finally make it to our office landing. The pull over sweater I had on before is now tied around my waist. I see the bathroom and feel the baggy in my pocket but I just untie the sweater and yank it over my head, nearly running into the office door. I sigh, pushing it open and stepping into the room. Pam's all ready sitting at her desk, and Michael at his. She glances up at me, giving me a smile as I stop at the table, lighting my bag from my shoulders.

"Ry Ry!" my boss sings, but I don't look over at him. "Why are you wearing a sweatshirt, you fruit, this is work. Sport jackets only, kid. Take it off."

I drop down on my chair."No," I say and she's grinning slightly.

"Uh, yes. Wanna get fired?" I turn, looking at him for a moment. "All right, then," he says after a minute and I turn back to the table.

"Hey, I got something pretty cool," I say quietly to her, "I think you'll like it."

She looks at me, her hands flat on the table, face expectant. I reach into my bag, pulling out the white Apple laptop. She looks surprised, and probably thinking I stole it, asks, "Where'd you get it?"

I grin slightly. "My buddy works in this warehouse place that deals with like, computers and shit like that. He has a crap load so he just fixed it up and gave it to me. It's only two years old and runs great, a lot better then the other one. Here, I set it all up for you…" I open the computer up, and push it closer to her.

"Wait, I can use this one?" she asks, lifting her eyebrows.

"Yeah," I say. "Yeah, cos, I mean, all my stuff's on the old on anyway, you know? Unless you want to use the old one…" But she shakes her head and smiles at me, so I push the laptop to her before opening the other one for myself. I can't help but like that she seems a lot more cheerful today.

"Oh, where did that come from?" Michael asks, looking at the laptop.

"Ryan got it for me!" she says and I bite back a pleased smile.

"Hah. Ryan got it for you. How sweet." I glance at her and her at me, but we stay silent. "Hey, Pamela! Why don't you let me use it for a little while? I have… boss work to do."

She looks at him, irritation on her features. "But I just got it—!"

He cuts her off. "Pammy. Pam Pam. Come on." She exhales and stands up, carefully moving around the table. She sets the laptop in front of him, a look of disdain on her face.

"Now what do I do?" she asks, dropping on her chair, looking at Michael. He just shrugs, though, all ready typing and giggling.

"Here," I say, sliding my laptop over to her. "I have to go to the bathroom anyway." She gives me a smile and I nod, turning on my heel, my hand all ready shoved down my pocket.

I shut the door behind me, quickly turning to the door on the right and nearly bursting it in. I push in the stalls and after making sure the room is completely empty, I lean over the sink, inhaling and trying to clear my head.

After the dizziness subsides, I pull the baggie from my pocket and place a paper towel on the sink. After shuffling through my pathetic wallet, I pull out my ID card from the bowling alley, reminiscing about the days when I could cut lines with 100 dollar bills. Sighing, I cut them with the card, leaning down and inhaling one. I breathe for a moment, allowing the stinging to go away, before inhaling sharply twice more.

The familiar feel of my racing heart is reassuring and after cleaning up, I can force myself back into the office.

* * *

It's drizzling by lunch so we sit underneath her umbrella. She's eating yogurt and I have string cheese. "Um, dogs," she says after a moment of consideration.

I nod. "Yeah, me too." I watch her for a moment. When she eats her yogurt, she licks her spoon, almost like it's an ice cream cone. She catches me grinning in amusement. "What?" she demands but I shake my head. "What? Are you laughing at the way I eat yogurt?" And I nod, laughing quietly. "Everyone does that!" I can't suppress a chuckle as I take a bite of my string cheese. "Well, you don't eat string cheese the right way," she says promptly, taking the cheese from my hand. "It's called string cheese for a reason, Ryan." She peels a piece off, slipping it between her lips and giving me a smile.

"All right, all right. Truce. We both don't know how to eat." She laughs, handing me my lunch back. I finish it off while she continues dipping into her yogurt.

"So, do you need a ride home after work?" I look at my hands for a moment. "No, it's cool. Thanks, though. I'm going out with some friends so they're picking me up." She nods and I glance at her, grimacing.

"So what happened to your car?" she asks and I feel the heat ride up to my face.

"Rent," I mutter, scratching the back of my ear. She nods knowingly, as if she's been in this situation, which she hasn't. But two years ago, neither was I.

Sighing, I look at my watch. "Hey, we should get back." She nods, dropping her plastic spoon into the yogurt cup. I take it from her, placing my string cheese wrapper in it. We stand and walk toward the building and I toss our lunch scraps into the tin trash can.

I push the elevator button and talk while we wait for the doors to open. "I swear to God," she's saying, "if Michael's still listening to Lady GaGa, I'm not going back in."

I laugh. "I'll do a sound check to see if he is. He doesn't even sing the right lyrics…" She gives a cute giggle and I can't help but smile. The elevator doors finally open and I start to walk in before running into something solid. Looking up, I realize its Jim and the smile melts off my mouth. I glance at Pam and suddenly she seems nervous.

"Hey," he says, looking at her. She hesitates, her mouth moving as if trying to find the words.

"Hey," she says finally. "Hi. Hey!" I shift slightly and feel Jim's gaze on me before landing back on Pam.

"I was just getting something from my car. What are you doing out here?"

She stammers. "O-oh, just eating lunch," she says, her attempt as an airy attitude visible.

"Yeah? Where'd you go?" Apparently I'm the only one who realizes we're standing in front of an open elevator.

"Just outside. It was nice until it started raining a little bit." He nods and I want to squeeze past him to get into the elevator but I'm still.

"All right," he says after a moment. "I'll see you after work!" She nods, reaching up to kiss him and I glance at my feet, wondering why I feel so guilty. Jim finally continues on his way and we finally slip into the elevator, the doors sliding shut behind us.

The silence hurts, in a way. It hasn't been this awkward in a while. We're either usually arguing or having a normal conversation. But the emptiness between us has reached a peak. I didn't realize how much I liked talking to her. Finally, though, she speaks. "I'm sorry," she whispers, her voice sounding high.

I blink, shuffling my feet self-consciously. "It's fine…"

But she cuts me off. "No. He doesn't have to ignore you like that." I look at her and she's furrowing her brow, looking confused and agitated.

"Pam, I honestly don't care if Jim talks to me or doesn't talk to me. It doesn't bother me in the least."

"But it bothers me." And her voice is low and it angers me to know that someone, especially oh-so-sweet Jim, upset her like this. And then I feel like I've run into a wall and everything just crashes over me because the last girl I felt like this about was Kelly. And contrary to popular belief, I loved Kelly. I blink, looking around, then at Pam. Her eyes are bright underneath the fluorescent light bulbs and I need to get out of here.

The doors finally open once more and I leave her behind looking lost. I ignore the office, turning directly into the bathroom. And I submerge myself into an empty and numb state of mind. A place where she can't touch me and he can't glare at me. A place where I'm with myself and that's OK.

Because when I'm in this state of mind, I feel perfectly OK with being alone.


	3. I Want To Hold Your Hand

**Title: The Boy Who Blocked His Own Shot.[Chapter three.]**

**Summary: She's becoming the fix that I need. I'm shooting daggers at myself in the mirror.**

**Authors note: Yeah, I don't really expect people to read this because it's a Ryan/Pam, but I think if you give it a chance, you'll like it. I try and write everyone in character as much as I can. Oh, and this isn't following the season. This is just up until the "Michael Scott Paper Company." So anything after that episode doesn't apply to this fic. Anyway. This is longer then most. Mainly because I didn't know where to stop it because all of it kind of goes together. Hopefully a new installment will be written this weekend. Enjoy. Comments are VERY much appreciated.**

* * *

The car shifts, jerking me forward slightly. I grip the clutch, hating stick shifts with a passion. It's a '98 red Neon. I got it cheap from a friend of a friend. It's nice to have my own car once more, though. I'm still a bit shaky; it's been a while since I've driven.

I see her sitting in her car, Jim on the passenger side. Her face in pink and he's talking a lot, his mouth moving quickly. I sigh, pulling into a parking spot a few down from them. I gather my things, pushing the car door open, the fresh April air dancing on my skin. I lock the car up, slinging my bag over my shoulder. I stop after a few feet, though, seeing Jim walk quickly into the building, alone. Glancing ahead, I see Pam in her car, forehead against the steering wheel. Logically, I know I should keep walking, all the way up to the office. But of course, I don't. If the past tells us anything, I'm not a logical guy.

I knock gently on her window and she jumps a little. Her eyes widen when she sees me and she wipes her face with her sleeve before rolling down her window. "Hi," I say, crouching down a bit, resting my arm on the door. "Hi," she breathes and we look at each other for a moment.

"He wants me to quit." Her words rush together, it takes me a second to figure out what she said.

"What?" I ask and she nods.

"He thinks that I'm wasting my time. He thinks he can talk Corporate into getting me a job." She pauses. "I told him no and he just… left." She drops her head, looking at her fingers and twisting her silver engagement ring.

"I know it sounds crazy," she continues, looking at me. "But I like working at the Michael Scott Paper Company! I mean, I made a sale. I'm not being hounded by twenty people to make copies. I'm… happy." She gives me a weak smile. "I mean, I was happy at Dunder Mifflin and I'm happy with Jim, I am. But I can't be sitting behind a receptionist's desk forever. I can't be stuck here forever. And he used to get that. But now… he's turning into Roy. Jim wants me to be happy and do what I want but it's just this whole paper company thing… he doesn't like it." Her eyes are bright, like they were that day in the elevator, like they get when she gets worked up.

"Have you told him all this?" I ask after her voice falls quiet. And she shakes her head, like I know she would. "Well, that's the first step. He can't understand if you don't tell him. You're engaged. You have to involve him in all your plans." She blinks and I flush because I'm not supposed to be this sentimental.

"So it's my fault then?" she asks, her eyes narrowed.

"Wh- no! I didn't say that! He should have asked what you wanted. But you have to make an effort to tell him." Her face softens in the quiet morning sounds that surround us.

"Yeah. I have to tell him what I want," she mutters to herself and I incline my head towards her.

"Yep. So you want to get going?" I ask, my knees aching from crouching.

She nods, sniffing. "Yeah, let's go." I open the car door and she gets out, flattening her dress out. I look at her a moment.

"You didn't go out with Kelly, did you?" I ask, her dress looking like it came out of Forever 21 and not The Gap. She gives me a sheepish smile, adjusting the dark purple cardigan on her shoulders.

"You don't like it?" I look once more at the tiny flower pattern, almost seeing smooth dark skin underneath it.

"It could be worse. You could be listening to Britney Spears."

And she laughs, "Don't tempt me!"

We look at each other a moment. "You look nice. Honestly." She blushes, tucking a stray piece of hair behind her ear. "Thanks."

I catch myself looking at her longer then I should have.

I do that a lot lately.

* * *

I spent the next few days watching Pam closely. She didn't mention Jim after that morning in the parking lot and I didn't ask. She seemed quieter, though, more distant, jumpy even. Part of me wanted to fix everything so she wouldn't look so miserable. The other part of me wanted her to leave Jim, something I knew wouldn't happen. A tiny part of me wanted to quit the Michael Scott Paper Company so I wouldn't be around her. I didn't want to fall any harder.

Because I was falling for her. I'd even started tucking my shirt in and using a briefcase so I wouldn't look like some pathetic washed up loser who used to work at the bowling alley. I wanted to go back to being the quiet temp, the one she said she liked me better as. I liked myself then, too.

The other person on my mind was Kelly. At first I was nervous and avoided parking my car near her spot in the lot lest she decide to destroy my windows or something. But Pam told me she'd been trailing around after this Charles Miner guy and hadn't talked about me that much.

The first time I saw her, she ignored me completely. But the next day she came down to see me and we talked a bit, deciding we should be friends. We'd gone out to lunch a couple of times and she took her breaks with Pam and me occasionally. She was still Kelly. It was OK, though; not everything had changed while I was gone and that was nice.

* * *

I'm running late. My phone is itching to ring, Michael on the other line, questioning me on my whereabouts. Sighing, I turn sharply into the parking lot, managing to cram into a spot on the end. As I pull my keys from the ignition, my phone rings and I glare at it. Nice timing, Michael.

I don't look at the caller ID and I don't offer a friendly greeting as I flip the cell phone open. "Yeah, Michael, I'm almost there, just give me a break—"

But a familiar high pitched voice interrupts me and I jump a little, looking wildly around. "Kelly?" I ask, surprised.

"Well, yeah, Ryan, duh! God, don't you have caller ID?" I blink, stammering slightly. "Well, yeah, I just…" But she continues over me.

"Listen. Pam got in a really bad right with Jim last night. She ended up staying at my place." I feel an odd sensation drift through my body, almost like a cold drink or something. I swallow, tuning back into what Kelly was saying.

"I don't even think she's going in to work today. She still sleeping; I don't think she went to bed at all last night. And I would totally stay here with her but Friday's are so, so, so busy for me. I have to file all the customer reports and Angela's always all over me about it but I can't just leave her alone, that's the last thing she needs, you know? So do you think you could stay here until I get off work, Ryan? I know you guys are pretty good friends now, right?"

She's not even breathless when she finishes her speech, merely awaiting my answer. I almost want to laugh but I can't because I'm still trying to wrap my head around what she's asking of me. "I dunno, Kelly. She doesn't want me there alone with her," I manage to say. "It's not a good idea." Because if Jim hears about it, he'll kill me. Because I can't see her cry. Because I can't listen to her go on and on about how much she loves him. Because I can't be alone with her in that situation because God knows what I'll do.

"Ryan," Kelly pleads in that whining voice she would use when she wanted me to do something for her. "Please. I wouldn't ask if it wasn't important."

"Yes you would!" I counter and I can see her roll her eyes.

"Ry, please." I sigh, swinging my legs back into the car and shutting the door.

"You totally owe me," I mutter and I know she's smiling.

* * *

The apartment still looks the same when I push the front door open, stepping into the foyer. "Kel?" I call, moving into the living room. I strain my ears, hearing shuffling and voices coming from the kitchen.

I see her at the table as I approach the doorway. She has a mug in her hands and she's staring into it, oblivious that Kelly's standing next to her with a pot of coffee.

"Hey," I say, leaning against the doorway, my gaze falling on her. They both jump slightly and she lifts her face and I see that her eyes are red.

"Hi, Ryan!" Kelly exclaims in a voice way too cheerful, even for her. Pam is looking confused as Kelly drags me into the kitchen. "Ryan is going to stay with you today while I go to work! Right, Ryan?" And I nod, my eyes on the crown of her head.

Kelly gives me a look, a warning look, her classic 'don't-you-dare-fuck-this-up Ryan Bailey Howard.' God, I hate that look.

She walks across the room, her heels clacking loudly against the silence. She grabs her purse before planting her hands on her hips purposefully. "Don't have too much fun without me!" she sings and I give her a look, my classic look, my 'are-you-being-serious-right-now?' look. God, she hates that look.

She ignores it though. "I'll drop in at lunch, maybe. See you guys!" Her heels clack down the hallway and we listen to the front door open and close. The apartment is silent. I drop down on a kitchen chair.

Pam tucks her hair behind her ear, sniffing, looking blankly around the room. I lean forward slightly. "We totally left Michael alone at the office."

She looks directly at me, shock on her features. I give her a sad smile and her grin is watery.

But at least it's something.

* * *

The credits fall down the screen but it's not like I'm paying attention anyway. I let her pick the movie. I let her lead me to the couch. I let her sit near me. I put myself in these situations. I'm jittery which is nothing new, but the reason is. The reason is less then a foot away.

She lifts the remote, flipping the TV off and looks down at her hands. I look at them too and it takes me a minute but I notice something's missing.

She catches me staring, covering her left hand with the right and I look down at my knees. "I'm sorry," I say before looking back at her and I really am. She blinks a couple of times and I want to do something but I know even the slightest movement will kill me.

"It was his decision," she breathes before swallowing hard. "He said that maybe we needed to rethink what we wanted. And he wanted his ring back. So I gave it to him." She chokes up for a moment, her hand on her mouth. "And I just couldn't stay there… and he wasn't going to leave and I just…"

She shifts and fidgets, twisting her hands together tightly. "Ryan, I don't know what I'm supposed to do now." And her voice is broken and frail, just like her. And her eyes are on me, wide and pleading, as if I, the boy with all the wrong answers, has the right one for her. But the only answer I have is something that she can never know and something I can never have.

"I… don't know," I manage to sputter nervously and her face falls. "What do you want?" And she looks at me, her face troubled and pale with questions and unfinished answers.

"I just don't want to feel anymore," she says weakly and I give her a twisted smile.

"That's what everyone wants." And her eyes overflow and I feel them wet against my chest. And although I know I shouldn't, and I know I'm only hurting myself, I fold my arms around her, tucking her head underneath my chin.

This is the beginning of the end for me.

* * *

She's sleeping when Kelly gets home. I'm on the back porch when I hear the front door slam shut. "I'm back here!" I call, leaning toward the glass door. "Hey, how did…" She breaks off when she sees the cigarette in my hand.

"Ryan Bailey Howard, are you smoking in front of an open door?" I stare at her, lowering the cigarette. "Do you want my house to smell like an ashtray?" she demands before grabbing the Marlboro from between my fingers and throwing it on the ground and stamping it out with her heel. "I've told you a thousand times, Ryan! Shut all the doors and windows before you do that crap!" She glares at me before spinning around, marching back into the apartment. And I can't help but grin because nothings going to ever really change between us.

After a minute, I follow after her. She's lighting a candle, the smell of FeBreeze fresh in the air. I have to roll my eyes. She turns around, setting the candle onto the table next to me, shooting me a dirty look before dropping down onto a chair.

"How is she?" Kelly asks and I shrug, sitting next to her.

"OK, I guess. We talked a little and she lost it for a bit, but she seems pretty drained. She's been sleeping for a while." Kelly nods, peeling her shoes from her feet.

"I can't imagine. God, I feel awful for her. I never would have thought this would happen." She rubs her forehead and we both fall into our own thoughts, only my mind is empty for once.

Footsteps reach my ears and we both look up. Pam's standing in the doorway, her face a little vacant, and underneath her eyes are dark. Kelly jumps up, flying to her side. "Hey," she says quietly, "you doing all right? Do you want something to eat?" But Pam shakes her head, dragging herself across the kitchen, sitting down on the chair across from me.

Its silent and Kelly and I are looking everywhere but at Pam. But when she speaks, our eyes snap onto her. "Jim called," she says, her voice nasally. "He said he won't be home until late so I should go over there and get my stuff and that we can talk sometime next week." She draws a breath, looking hopelessly up at me.

"Well, maybe Ryan could drive you over there and then you can stay with me until you figure out what you're going to do," Kelly breaks in, her voice seemingly optimistic but I could kill her because that is the last thing I want to do.

* * *

We're in my car because of course Kelly always gets her way. I guess I never did mind her bossing me around. Pam's next to me, her hands placed neatly in her lap. Her clothes are wrinkled and what's left of her makeup is smudged. I begin to wonder if she was actually sleeping while she lay in Kelly's bed all those hours.

I pull into the driveway and the springtime air fills my car when she pushes the door open. "I'll be back in a minute," she says softly before stepping out of the car and shutting the door. She carefully walks up the steps and unlocks the door, disappearing behind it.

I sigh, rolling my window down. The sky is pink, glowing as it slowly turns darker. It feels warm, almost like a summer night and those have always been my favourite nights.

15 minutes later, she steps outside, a duffle bag in hand and her eyes more red then before. She pulls the car door open, placing her bag on the floor before sitting back down next to me.

I look at her for a moment and she lifts her face. "I just feel so… helpless." And I'm a little surprised by her confession but I can understand that feeling. Like you can't help yourself so other people try to. Like you can't figure things out on your own. Like you're alone so there's no real point in trying.

Yeah, I know that feeling.

"It gets better," I say. "Easier. You'll figure out how to be you again." I look at my knees. "But for now, it sucks." And I glance at her and we both give sad smiles to the honest truth.

I turn the keys, the engine starting, and I slowly guide the car in reverse. "Ryan?" she asks, her voice quiet.

"Mmm?" I look over at her before turning the corner and she's biting her lip. "I'm not ready to go back to Kelly's yet."

And she's being real and she's telling me what she wants. Because honestly, I'm not ready either. "Do you want to drive around?" And she nods and I nod because this is both the best and worst idea I've ever had.

So I drive her around and we explore every corner of Scranton. She cries and even laughs and I try to show her that I'm not a complete idiot. I play her CDs and buy her a Slurpee and tell her stupid stories that I think she appreciates.

And she tells me she doesn't want to go home, wherever that is. So we empty the gas tank and fill it up again. And by dawn, she's sleeping, her head leaning against the window.

And the whole time, I resist every urge and I don't hold her hand.


	4. Swing Life Away

**Title: The Boy Who Blocked His Own Shot. [Chapter four.]  
**

**Summary: If love is a labour I'll slave till the end.  
**

**Author's note: Chapter four! It's a bit short. The first half is in Pam's point of view. I've never written Pam before so it's probably not the best, but I tried. Thanks for the reviews. The next chapter will be focusing more on Ryan and his issues. Enjoy! **

* * *

**Pam's POV;**

Even though I had a major headache when I awoke the next morning and my neck ached from my awkward sleeping position, that night driving around with Ryan, I got the most relaxing sleep for the first time in days. I think it was because I managed to drift off without a heavy heart and I knew I wasn't going to wake up alone the next morning. It was weird that I found that comfort in Ryan, a guy that I detested a few months ago. I still thought he was a bit of an idiot, but I was enjoying our time together.

Kelly had been very hospitable over the past week. I'd never really minded Kelly. We had actually been really good friends when I worked at Dunder Mifflin. But, honestly, I know Kelly would do this for anyone; that's how she's always been.

And of course, Jim had been pressing down on my heart and mind. It'd always be when I was laying in bed, trying to sleep, that I saw his face, heard his voice, and almost felt his breath on my neck. Everything happened so fast, I could barely wrap my head around it all. I mean, it'd been a little tense after I left Dunder Mifflin. He didn't really get that. And before, I felt like we were in a rut. We hadn't really progressed in our wedding plans and he just seemed so absorbed in his own head.

Is this just how it is after people get engaged? They just completely change? The whole thing makes my head spin.

* * *

It's Saturday morning, a day after everything happened. Kelly had set her guest room up for me, so every morning I woke up twisted in lavender sheets and rose smelling fabric softener. I've managed to get over it after a while.

I glance at the hot pink alarm clock next to me, the time, glittering and sparkling, being 8:30. I'm supposed to meet with Jim for breakfast at 9:30 and the knot in my stomach tightens. I'm nervous to see him. Things are going to be so different and I hate that so much.

I clench my eyes shut, willing the hot tears to dissolve. I'm amazed that I still have any left in me.

After a moment of blank thoughts, I pull myself out of bed, stretching my arms above my head. What do you wear to a date with you ex fiancé but current boyfriend?

* * *

45 minutes later, I step out of my car, grabbing my purse before shutting the door. I had chosen a pair of light blue capris with a yellow top that Kelly had helped me pick out a few weeks ago. The weather is so nice. It's amazing I feel the way I do.

I walk quickly across the street, the familiar café coming into view. And when I see him, my heart jumps into my throat and I'm suddenly feeling lightheaded and everything that happened seems to hit me hard.

His back is to me but I know it's him; I could recognize the back of his head anywhere. I force myself to breathe and stand straighter, pushing all emotion away. I compose myself before continuing down the sidewalk and my heart beats quicker with every step I take.

And before I can turn around, run away, and hide, I sit down on the wicker chair across from him. "Hi," I say and he jumps a bit, blinking as if trying to see me clearly.

"Hey," he says and I hate the awkwardness that settles between us. "How are you?"

And I feel myself getting angry. How do you think I am? But I swallow, giving a small nod. "Fine. I'm staying with Kelly," I offer. I feel satisfied when he flushes and rubs his neck awkwardly.

"Yeah, I'm sorry about that… I needed to clear my head. This really hasn't been my shining moment, huh?" I stare at him, confirming this.

"I am… so sorry this happened," he continues and I lean back, watching him. "I wasn't thinking when I broke off our engagement. Work just sucks and I was worried things were changing between us. And they are! I mean, it's been a weird transition, you leaving. I just freaked."

He swallows, looking down at the table in front of us, then back up at me. "I want to marry you Pam, I do. You need to tell me what you want, though, so we're on the same page."

I nod, thinking of Ryan suddenly. Maybe he isn't that much of an idiot. "Yeah, I know. Just sometimes, I don't know what I want and I just kind of… spaz out."

"And I know that," Jim intercedes. "I just think that the things I want are best for both of us. It's the whole arrogant thing everyone's always telling me about."

And I can't help but laugh which makes him grin. "So, will you come home?" he asks. And I want to say yes, I want to drive back to our house and go back to the way things used to be. But there's something in the back of my head and this feeling in my gut is making me nauseous.

"I love you," I tell him, "I really do. But you need to figure out why this happened. And then, I'll come home." And we're looking at each other and I'm amazed at how logical I made that sounds even though it's the last thing I want to tell him.

But he sighs, nodding his head. "You're right," he admits. So I stand and he stands and my arms are around his neck and his breath is in my ear. "I love you, too," he whispers.

And I know he does. That's what's making this so hard.

* * *

**Ryan's POV;**

I've taken to stopping by Kelly's a few times a week. Though I see Pam all day in the office, it was different when sitting on the back porch with the sun going down and spring smells drifting around us. She told me about what happened with Jim, and though she seems happier, she also seems conflicted. But I don't ask; I can't. It's like, the more she opens her heart up to me, the harder it gets to not feel the way I do about her.

* * *

We're at Poor Richard's. It's after work and I'm working on my second beer while she's still sipping on her first. The bar is quiet and we're tucked away in the back, the dim light bulbs humming above us.

She sighs, rubbing her forehead. "You all right?" I ask before gulping down the last of my beer. She nods, spinning her bottle carefully on the table.

"Yeah, just over thinking, I guess." I give her a small smile.

"Well, drink up!" I offer, tapping our drinks together. She gives me a shy grin, tipping her head back and swallowing down half the contents in her bottle. She straightens us, coughing and spluttering. And I have to laugh, lifting my hand and singling for another round.

--

But by her fifth beer, she's incoherent. "Oh, Ry," she slurs, her head falling back on my chest as I try and lead her to my car. "This was such a fun night!" And her hand is on my face while the other tugs at my hair and I just really want her to stop before I lose my mind. She doesn't though, only links our arms together, tripping all over the parking lot.

"Pam," I mutter, "the car's this way." I manage to drag her to the car and she has a pout on her face, one to give Kelly a run for her money.

"But I want to stand underneath the lights," she whines and I ignore her, tugging on her hand gently. She trails along behind me, absentmindedly looking around, blinking her wide eyes.

She doesn't put up a fight as I sit her in the passenger seat. I lean over, securing the seat belt. "You doing ok?" I ask, pulling away. She seems not to hear me; she's just watching me. "What?" I ask and she just shakes her head before lifting a hand and brushing away my bangs.

My heart is racing at her touch and I blink quickly. "You have such pretty eyes," she sighs, gently touching my eyelids.

"Thanks," I manage to breath, "you too." But she shows no signs that she cares about what I'm saying.

Her fingers trace my cheekbones, drifting down towards my mouth and I know I need to get out of here. But I can't move quick enough and she lifts her face toward mine, capturing my bottom lip between both of hers.

And I feel as if I might pass out and my fingers are cupping her jaw and I'm gently pressing my mouth against hers. I hear her sharp intake of breath and I know I need to stop but she's deepening the kiss and I'm feeling her tongue against mine. And I know I need to stop but she's just so amazing. And I know I need to stop but she's the only thing that's made me feel real these past few weeks. And I know I need to stop but she tastes so right.

And I know I need to stop so I do. She looks surprised and then I see her eyes begin to overflow. "Pam," I manage to say shakily. "It's fine, I…" But she's shaking her head.

"I'm so sorry," she whispers. "I just had to do that even though I shouldn't have… I just had to see…" And her hands are on her face and I know she's drunk but I can't stop the thoughts I'm thinking.

"Sh," I say over her crying. "It's not your fault. You're drunk; it's never your fault if you're drunk." And I hear a dry laugh between sobs and I smile, touching her hair. "Let's get you home," I say, gently shutting her car door.

And in a daze, I manage to climb through my door, feeling faint. And her crying has quieted down and her face is still wet so I reach over, wiping underneath her eye. And she takes my hand, holding it while I drive her home.


	5. What A Catch, Donnie

**Title: The Boy Who Blocked His Own Shot. [Chapter five.] **

**Summary: I've got troubled thoughts and the self-esteem to match. What a catch.  
**

**Authors note: I know I haven't been that creative with the summary's lately; mainly been using song lyrics. This chapter is mostly angsty but I'm actually a bit proud of it. It's also a bit short because I didn't want to post everything at one time. I would basically expect this to be half done. I'm counting on a total of 10 chapters unless more inspiration strikes. **

**Anyway. Comments are adored; I like to reply to them. **

* * *

My mom's front yard looks the same as ever except for the browning flowers scattered in front of the porch. The wind is moving gently through Scranton, dark clouds passing above. A snowstorm up north is supposedly moving towards us and I shiver slightly underneath my grey pullover.

I shuffle my feet, standing awkwardly on the flat stepping stones leading toward the porch steps. Fear and nervousness course through my veins and I swallow hard before forcing myself forward, my heart pounding harder after every second. I lift a hand, tapping my fist against the front door and remembering the days when I didn't have to knock, I would just walk in after a night at business school. I blink quickly; God I miss those days.

I'm beginning to regret not using some form of self-medication before coming; I feel even more jumpy then usual. But I know I need to be sober. I owe her that much.

After what feels like ages, the front door whines, the sounds coming the TV drifting outside. She stands there and even after a second of looking at me, I know I've broken my mother's heart.

"Ryan," she breathes and I offer a weak smile. "Ryan." Her hands flutter to her chest and I'm not sure what to do with mine so I shove them into my pockets.

"Hi, mom," I manage, my fingers shaking in my sweatshirt. She lets out a sigh, sniffing, her fingers flattening her dress. And she swallows hard and quite suddenly I feel her arms around my waist and it takes me by surprise. I rest my hands on her back, breathing in the familiar scent of perfume and shampoo and laundry detergent. And my throat hurts and the lump there is stuck.

It's the way she feels like home. It's the way the wind chimes above the door sing gently like they did years ago. It's the way the rocking chair creaks in the wind and the steps squeak when you step on them. It's the gardening tools tossed randomly about.

It's the little things that remind me of the way my life used to be.

My mother lets out a breath, pulling away. "Well come in," she says, sniffing again and wiping her eyes. I nod, trailing along behind her, my mind all ready reeling.

When I come back here, it sometimes feels like I never left. She leaves everything the same, even after Dad died two years ago. His old Cleveland Indians hat is still placed on the top of the coat rack, like he just put it there after a day of fishing. I touch it, the material worn and I shake the feeling.

I barely registered my dad's death. It was around the time I moved to New York. It was one of those things I heard about but numbed it up. Kelly had called a million times that week but I turned my phone off.

I came to the funeral but I wasn't really there and my mom knew that. The last time I was here was months before I even left for Thailand.

"When did you get back?" she asks quietly as I walk into the kitchen.

"A few months ago," I reply. And even though her back is to me, I feel the disappointment. Her shoulders drop slightly and she lets out one of her quiet sighs. "I would have come by sooner I was just…" My voice trails off and she set two cups of coffee on the table, some of it spilling.

"So why are you here now?" she asks, wiping up the mess and her voice is strained. "Need some coke money?" she continues harshly, not waiting for my reply.

And I freeze, my heart almost stopping. "I… what…?" But no excuse or lie or incredulous look will get me out of this one.

"Kelly told me. She only saw you once outside of work, correct? And you took her to your apartment and she found cocaine on your nightstand. Do you recall this?"

I want to groan out loud and oh shit, I totally forgot about that. And that really explains why Kelly never mentions New York.

"Mom," I begin weakly, but her hand pounds against the counter top and her backs to me, shoulders curled forward as if protecting herself from me.

"Dammit, Ryan!" she whispers sharply, a sob catching in her throat and I touch the wall, steadying myself. "You used to be such an ingenuous boy." She turns around and her eyes are wet and now the heartbreaker's heart is broken.

Because she deserves so much better. Because Kelly deserved so much better. Because my dad deserved a sober son at his funeral. Because I'm not worth their love.

And she has a hand over her mouth, her eyes overflowing and frame shaking. And I have to drop my eyes because I'm a coward.

"I'm… so sorry," is all I can say, my chest aching. I manage to turn around, leaving her to fall, sobbing on the floor, leaving her alone again.

Before I leave, I touch the baseball hat again. Sighing, my fingers wrap around it and I hold it close to me, taking it with me as I walk out the door.

And when I get into my car and drive blindly around, I can't make out the blurry figure in the rear view mirror.

The cloud's break and a heavy spring shower covers my car while inside my eyes overflow, drenching my steering wheel and shaking fingers.

I can't get away from myself.


	6. Soft Skeletons

**Title: The Boy Who Blocked His Own Shot. [Chapter Six.]**

**Summary: I breathe her in and it's a new kind of home.**

**Author's note: I don't own anything, as you should know. This chapter is dedicated to BJ Novak's old hair. **

* * *

After an hour, I manage to drive back to my apartment, head aching and body tired.

I step outside, my hair sticking to my forehead and shoes becoming wet. I'm beginning to hate spring and its unexpected weather. The door to my apartment sits in front of me, waiting for my return, but I only stare, steadily becoming drenched underneath the dark clouds that seem to follow me everywhere I go.

And I feel my chest constrict and my ribs ache. Everything increasingly becomes clear. My mistakes are painfully obvious even to me and I clench my fists, hating myself for the sob that climbs up my throat, making me feel dizzy.

It feels almost like the sky is pressing down on me, trying to consume me. And I'm falling into the vast sea of failures and my drowning is merely another addition to the collection of fuck ups. Everyone who used to care is gone because I've become impossible.

My life is impossible.

I feel her hand on my shoulder and I know it's hers because I get that feeling like when she kissed me. "Ryan," she's saying, tugging on my arm and I manage to turn around.

My teeth are chattering and I know my eyes are red. I know I look like a mess.

Scratch that. I am a mess.

She says my name louder but the wind is carrying it away. I feel her hand in my sweatshirt pockets, pulling my keys out and moving past me to unlock the apartment door. She pulls me inside, shutting the door.

My world is incredibly quiet.

I only follow along after her as she leads me through the familiar rooms, finally coming to a stop in the bathroom.

"Ryan," she says, standing in front of me and I force my gaze on her. Her makeup is smudged underneath her eyes, her hair flat because of the rain. The hood of her jacket, which was on before, is now pushed back, and her face is lifted up towards mine, pale and wet, and I hate how much I know I've scared her.

She steps toward me, pulling my sweatshirt over my head, her hands shaking clumsily. My v-neck is stuck to my chest and my wet jeans are beginning to irritate me. I steady myself against the sink, my eyes feeling heavy and body drained. I just want to sleep.

"I wanted to talk about the other night," she says, her fingers gently pressed against my wrist. "But… it's fine. I can leave." She sounds disappointed and that doesn't surprise me in the least. But as she turns away, I take her hand, pulling her to me. Her forehead rests against my chest and we're breathing in sync. I hold her too tightly because I know this won't last forever.

I breathe her in and it's a new kind of home.

* * *

Half an hour later we're sitting on the edge of my bed, my fingers clasped tightly together.

"Ryan, I'm so sorry about that night at Poor Richard's. I just…" Her face flushes and she presses a hand to her forehead.

"It's ok," I murmur, my voice sounding hoarse. I feel her small hand cover mine.

"Thank you so much for these past few weeks. You're a really good friend," she says, squeezing my fingers.

And I look at her, my mouth open to talk, to explain, to deny, to confess. But everything doesn't seem right. I only nod.

"What happened today?" she asks quietly. "I called you a hundred times." And I close my eyes, taking in the moment before she discovers everything.

"I went to see my mom," I tell her, thinking of my dad's baseball cap sitting on the passenger seat of my car. Her face clears slightly. "It didn't go so well."

And I face her, letting out a shaky breath, looking down at our entwined fingers. "A lot happened when I went to New York…"

I manage to tell her everything in under an hour. She doesn't pull away, or slam the door behind her, or talk down on me like Kelly would. She grips my hand tightly, her face intent and I don't deserve this.

"And I've broken everyone around me," I breathe. "I can't even fix it this time," I finish, looking down.

"Ry, you can fix it," she says quietly, scooting closer to me. "There're groups and therapists… Your mom, she's just worried about you. I promise, you can go back." But she's wrong. I never heard of anything so impossible.

"It sounds so easy, but its not. I _have_ tried. It's not easy at all." And I hate the defeated tone in my voice because a few years ago, it never would have been there. I was such an ingenuous boy.

"I never said it'd be easy," she says firmly. "But the only way it becomes impossible, is when you don't try."

And I don't say anything but the silence doesn't fill the space in between us anymore, because she's right there, her arm around my waist.

I touch her back gently, standing up and walking to my dresser. I fumble through the top drawer, pulling out a box of hair dye. "I'm getting sick of blond," I say, handing it to her.

And she smiles up at me before standing and taking my hand, pulling me back into the bathroom.

* * *

I sit on the closed toilet seat, watching her shake the bottle filled with developer and dye. She has plastic gloves on over her petite fingers. Her eyes meet mine through the mirror. Her smile is gentle.

"Tell me if I get any in your eyes," she says, standing in front of me. I nod. Her fingers push back my bangs and I feel the cold mixture drip through my hair. I close my eyes, her body moving carefully in front of me.

"You ok?" she asks, her fingers tugging gently at the back of my head.

"Yeah. You?" And she nods.

"Thank you," she whispers, "for telling me everything." I swallow, unsure of what to say. "You don't do that often, do you?" she asks, stepping back.

"No. Never, to be honest. " I look up at her. "Thanks for not leaving."

Her face softens and she pulls off the gloves before touching my jaw. "Of course." We look at each for a moment.

She clears her throat and I blink. "So, give this 20 minutes and then you can rinse."

"Sounds good," I say, standing and glancing in the mirror.

We make our way into the kitchen. She sits on a bar stool and I hop onto the counter, my feet dangling. "I think it'll look good," she says.

I grin. "Yeah? I hope so."

And she gives me a smile I know is mine.

* * *

20 minutes later, she's toweling my hair dry in the bathroom. "Voila!" she says, stepping back and I straighten up. I run my fingers through my damp hair, flattening it out a bit before moving towards the mirror.

I stare at my reflection and he touches his jaw, liking the pale freshly shaven face underneath the familiar mop of dark hair he sees. Pam stands by my shoulder, reaching up and tousling my hair. "Niiice," she says, sounding exactly like Kevin Malone, that it makes us laugh.

I tilt my head, looking at her through the mirror. "Thanks," I say because I know there's 100 other things I could say but don't. She shrugs.

"It wasn't too bad. The chemicals had some effect for a while but I'm good now." She offers a goofy grin before lifting a hand to fix her own hair and I can't help but watch her.

She flushes. "Come on. Let's go show your new hair off at 7-11 while you get me a slushie." She beams brightly, looking up at me.

I sigh. "Yes dear," I say, barely concealing my own grin as she giggles, leading me out of the room.

* * *

It's amazing that the weather is still the same but I'm feeling so different. She's sitting on the passenger's side, her shoeless feet resting on the dashboard, her hair spilling out of its elastic band.

"What's this?" she asks and I glance over at her. She has my dad's baseball cap in her hands, examining it. "Didn't know you were a baseball fan?"

I smile. "No, I'm not. My Dad was though." She looks at me quizzically.

"This is your dad's?" she asks. I nod. "Then why do you have it?"

I pause. "Um, he gave it to me. Before he died." She bites her lip.

"I'm sorry," she says but I give her a reassuring smile.

"It's fine." I reach over, taking the hat from her and placing it clumsily on her head. "You work it much better then me."

She giggles, straightening the hat. "Thanks."

I pick my soda up, taking a drink while she happily sucks away at her blue slushie. "When I first got my license, I would always drive around after it rained and go through puddles." I look over at her, grinning. "Jim hates it. I think it freaks him out."

I swallow, my smile dimming and it's almost like she knows what I'm thinking, what I'm feeling. The air outside seems to slip inside, cold and bitter against us, between us.

"Can I turn the radio on?" she asks carefully and I glance over at her, offering a small smile.

"Yeah, go ahead." She reaches forward and the car is soon filled with poppy, body-moving tunes. My face reddens and she giggles, flipping through the stations. She finally pauses on a contemporary rock channel.

"Ooh, Maroon 5," she hums and I look over at her, laughing at her shameless shrug. She sings under her breath and I find myself enjoying it more than I enjoy Adam Levine.

I pull into the parking lot of the high school I used to go to and she turns the music down, thoughtfully looking out the window.

"So you were a Terrier?" she asks, her eyes scanning the fluffy dog painted on the side of the school building. I grin, looking at it also.

"Yep," I sigh, an exaggerated note of sarcastic pride in my voice, "linebacker and prom king."

She turns her head, the straw of her drink hanging off the bottom of her lip. "No way!" And her eyes are sparkling, a laugh dangling on the tip of her tongue.

"No, I wasn't," I admit, my grin impish. She tosses her head back, her tinkling laugh filling the small car.

"I knew it," she says, looking at me, her smile radiant and her hair messily framing her face.

"Ouch," I say, rubbing the area over my heart and she laughs harder.

"Don't be so sensitive," she tells me. ""You're far too cool to be a Terrier linebacker." She looks at me shyly "I would have voted you prom king though."

I look down at my fingers, face red and smile wide. Her giggling subsides and I glance over at her. She has a hand over her chest and her cheeks are pink.

She's looking at me and as usual, my gaze is resting on her. Her face is moving closer to mine, and I can see the light from the streetlight behind me reflected in her eyes. And I can feel her breath, cold from her slushie, causing goose bumps to crawl up my arms and my whole body to shiver.

Her lips press against the side of my mouth gently and I lean into it, her warm kiss flushing my face and making my fingers shake with nervousness.

My fingers hold her chin, gently cupping her face with my hands. Her own hands lay on my chest and I taste the sweet blueberry syrup on her tongue.

I don't stop kissing her, even when a cheesy love song comes on the radio; I don't even cringe. My heart thuds along and I'm counting each of her breaths.

I pull back carefully, our mouths inches apart and my eyes are still shut as I try and commit her kiss to memory. "You know this is the second time you've kissed me, right?"

I crack open my eyes and see the small smile dancing lightly on her lips. "I was drunk the firs time," she breathes, a giggle behind her voice. "And yeah, I know."

I smile again because I know that I have this moment with her, in my car where no one can be disappointed in me or try and sweep her away from me. I kiss her once more, my fingers tangling in her thick hair.

Her perfume doesn't make me sneeze anymore.


	7. She Doesn't Get It

**Title: The Boy Who Blocked His Own Shot. [Chapter Seven.]**

**Summary: The scene is ruined because I'm not Ryan Gosling or George Clooney or whoever else. I'm not Prince Charming.**

**Author's Note: So, I know I said I'd probably have 10 chapters, but there's going to only be nine. I've really enjoyed writing this, and I'm all ready working on another Pam/Ryan. This isn't the best fic in the world and I have learned from it, so hopefully my next one will be a lot better. This isn't goodbye yet though, so make sure you stick around. **

* * *

She isn't mine to hold and I know that. She's still his, I'm just there, and I hate the fact that I can probably relate to Dwight. Some nights I call, she say's she's busy and I can hear his voice in the background. It makes my head spin, but I know I put myself here.

But there are little moments during the day when I grasp onto the feeling that she has eyes for only me.

And after the high of these moments, when she's laying next to me, breathing delicately, I have to remind myself that this isn't forever and ever, and that I'm not her fairy tale ending. I have to tell myself that the days are limited.

I hate the fact that sometimes, I wish I was.

* * *

She shifts in her chair. My eyes flicker over to her occasionally. Michael is gone and I feel my foot tapping. It's a Monday morning and I haven't been with her since Thursday night.

She stands, slowly maneuvering herself to the copier, a piece of paper clutched between her hands. I hear the machine turn on and the papers go through and I let out a quiet breath, focusing on the reports in front of me.

I glance around, looking for the stapler, then glance over towards Michael's desk. He likes to take it and open it up and shoot staples out around the office. I have way too many cuts and injuries because of this sport. That's the week we bought him cheese puffs.

I force myself up, shuffling around Michael's desk. I begin to reach for the stapler but I feel her hands on my chest, her lips crashing against mine. I force myself to breathe, gripping her tightly. She leans against the front of Michael's desk, pulling me down, pens and pencils scattering on the floor and the roll of tape falling on his desk chair.

"I'm sorry I didn't call you," she whispers, breathless. "I was at my mom's for the weekend." My hand slips underneath her shirt, her skin warm, familiar, and welcoming.

"You're thinking of your mom right now?" I mutter, pressing my hips into hers.

She makes a face. "I was just telling you," she says bitterly, fumbling with my belt. I only laugh and she bites down on my neck.

"Shit," I mumble darkly, "not so hard." She giggles softly, her fingers pressed into my waist. Her hair's coming undone and our hands are wandering faster.

The sound of the turning doorknob is heard over our heavy breathing and I feel her hands on my chest, pushing me off her hard. I trip, managing to land on my chair, my heart racing.

"What the hell happened here?" he asks, his eyes wide. I turn toward the table, fixing my belt. I stammer, my mind way too preoccupied to think of an excuse.

"Ryan!" Pam gasps and my head snaps around. "He was, um, throwing the stapler at your pencil cup." Sure enough, the stapler is sitting in front of me.

We look at her and she uncertainly flattens her skirt. "I have to go… do something," she says, giving me a knowing look before hurriedly leaving the office.

Michael's incredulous gaze turns to me and I search for words. "I… sorry," I mumble, looking guiltily down.

* * *

After a lecture from Michael about the importance of office supplies and being forced to help him organize his pens in order of importance, I finally manage to escape.

I casually walk through the hallways, finally reaching the unused broom closet that I had grown familiar with over the past week. I knock twice, pushing the door open. It was much smaller then our office, but didn't hold the same musty smell, thankfully.

She's leaning against the wall, her hands clasped together in front of her.

"About time," she says, grinning. She pulls me to her by my hand, and I give her a sour look.

"Michael made his huge deal about office supplies," I tell her, pushing her hair back. "Hey, next time think of a better excuse, all right?"

She smiles in an embarrassed way. "I know, I'm sorry," she says apologetically. "I freaked out."

"You're telling me," I grumble, lowering my face to hers. She giggles sweetly, pulling suggestively on my tie, and I rest my hands on her thin hips.

"Really, though, I'm sorry about this weekend. My mom's sucked. It was awkward."

I know she means Jim and her missing engagement ring. I nod slowly, grimacing. Her face reddens and she looks ashamed about what we're doing.

It's quiet and I shift awkwardly, looking down at her.

"Sorry," she whispers. "I know that you don't to hear about that." And I know 'by 'that', she means 'him'.

"Why can't you just… end it with him?" I ask, my voice more forceful then I intended.

She looks at me, her face fearful. "Ry, don't do this."

But I drop my hands, stepping back slightly, and her fingers let go of my tie.

"Jim and I… we're meant to be together. That's how it's always been and always will be." She gives me a sad look, that pitying look that everyone's given me these past few months. That look that I hate.

"Then why are you sneaking around with me?" I ask in a low voice, harshly. Her face is shocked like she's been burned.

"B-because," she stammers, looking uncomfortable.

"Because you're bored," I cut in, "because you aren't sure if he's your 'happy ending.'"

And before I realize it, her hand whips up, slapping the side of my face. I stare, caught off guard completely. Her face is furious, her eyes burning and I feel my eyes widen, my face heating.

Her anger drips off her face, the realization of what she had done taking her by surprise. "Oh my God," she says tearfully. "I'm so sorry."

I blink quickly, straightening my tie, my face still stinging.

I have to leave because sometimes she's too much to deal with.

* * *

The next few days are quiet and tense. I haven't gone this long without talking to Pam in weeks and it's making my headache. I tried to push the feeling away. I blew my rent money on coke and drove up to New York to hang out with Troy. He's the only one from Corporate who will still talk to me.

I came home feeling worse then ever. My eyes were red and I'd worn the same wrinkled khakis and black v-neck for two nights in a row. Nothing worked and that scared me. Powder always worked.

I blink against the bright sun, shuffling carefully across the parking lot, my head throbbing after a long day of attempting to sell paper in the cramped office. I pull my Ray Bans from my messenger bag, shoving them onto the bridge of my nose.

"Ryan!" I turn around, slightly surprised. She's standing on the sidewalk, her hair slightly windswept and face earnest.

I shift my weight to my left foot, shoving my hands in my pocket. This scene looks like something from one of Kelly's romance movie. I couldn't tell you which one; they all look the same to me: the girl with her pleading face and endless apologies and the charming boy who sweeps her into his arms, carrying her off.

"Er, hey," I say, my voice sounding flat. Her shoulders sink slightly, her face falling at my tone. The scene is ruined because I'm not Ryan Gosling or George Clooney or whoever else. I'm not Prince Charming.

"Hey," she says quietly. We stare at each other for a moment. She tugs on the cuffs of her sweater and I scuff my shoes against the pavement. "Can we talk?"

I shrug my shoulders in a way that says I don't care but I'm finding I do, sadly. I turn on my heel, heading to my car, shooting a glance over my shoulder. "Come on."

I hear the familiar tapping of her heels against the pavement.

I unlock the car and she opens the passenger door, sitting daintily down next to me, nervousness on her features. It doesn't feel like the rainy day in the Scranton High parking lot. It doesn't even feel like the day she drove me home. I can't help the frostiness forming on my shoulder.

"Ryan," she starts, "Last week… I… I'm sorry. I can't lose your friendship, I really can't." What the hell is up with this friendship bullshit? I find myself thinking furiously, hating it. I blink, listening to her once again.

She gives a small laugh. "You know, I used to really hate you." I look at her, my expression skeptical. She's staring straight ahead, talking to the dashboard.

"When you were dating Kelly, I thought you were such an ass."

"That's 'cos I was… I still am," I say, looking at the steering wheel.

"Yeah, you are. But I think that's why I like you." I look at her and she has a thoughtful look on her face. "You're everything I shouldn't like, but I somehow do. I just can't believe I've done this again," she sighs in frustration. "I was with Roy and I fell for Jim. I'm with Jim and… I've fallen for you."

She looks up into my face.

"I'm guessing I don't end up as lucky as Jim, huh?" I ask quietly and her lower lip trembles, her gaze falling down to her fingers.

"I'm sorry," I say, clearing my throat. She nods, sniffing softly and brushing her bangs from her face.

"Will you come over tonight?" I ask and she looks back up at me. "Just… I have something to give you."

She blinks quickly, nodding.

I hate to know I've broken her.

What I hate even more is knowing that she's somehow managed to break me.


	8. Hate To See You Go

**Title: The Boy Who Blocked His Own Shot.[Chapter Eight.]**

**Summary: And she's standing in the doorway and I know that nothing I say or do will make her stay.**

**Author's Note: Um yeah. Angst angst angst. Poor Ryan. Thanks for sticking around. Last chapter should be up next week.**

* * *

I look down at my watch for the tenth time, my foot tapping nervously. She'll be here soon and I'm trying not to think of when she leaves again, this time for the last time. I swallow, wondering how I'll still be able to stay in Scranton. There wasn't much incentive before. But I don't have anyone anymore. Not here, not in New York. Nowhere.

The knock on the door makes me jump and I stand, trying to calm my heart all the while. I turn the doorknob, pulling the door back, the cool night air drifting inside. She stands there, dressed in jeans and a simple tee shirt. It makes everything that much harder.

We look at each other a moment and silently I step back, allowing her to come in. She walks past me, glancing at her shoes. I smell her vanilla perfume and it wraps around me, intoxicating me.

She stands awkwardly in the living room, wringing her hands together, her face looking lost and slightly confused as if she just stumbled in my apartment by accident. "What did you want to give me?" she asks tentatively and I stare blankly at her for a moment, forgetting why she was here in the first place.

"Oh yeah, " I say, blinking my eyes in clarity. "Right." I turn, beginning to walk down the hallway. I look behind me and she hesitates before following along after me.

My room, which is usually light and alive and our haven, now seems cold and I can't stand being in here. She sits on my desk chair, looking expectantly up at me and I'm reminded of the day I brought the laptop into work, my first gesture at actually being civil towards her.

I stammer soundlessly, turning around and reaching above my dresser, pulling it off the stereo. My arms feel heavy and my body feels exhausted as if I've been running a marathon. But my heart just keeps thudding.

The CD sleeve sits in my hand and I look down at it, her name written plainly on the CD in purple Sharpie. Pam.

I face her, still looking at the CD, letting out a soft, almost inaudible sigh. "Here," I say, finally handing it over to her. "I don't care if you throw it away or break it or whatever. Just listen to it, beginning to end, one time. Just once," I finish, and she's holding the CD in her small hands, carefully turning it over.

She looks up at me, her face peaceful. I watch as she stands, slipping the CD out of the cover and I almost expect her to hand it back to me, giving me an apology and a sad look. But she doesn't. She turns the stereo on, opening the drive and carefully, she places the CD in. I furrow my brow, studying her as she fumbles with the knobs and soon, the opening notes of Thirteen by Big Star drift through the speakers. Her smile manages to fill the small room.

And for the last time, we stretch out on my bed, fingers clasped between us. We heard this song once on a rerun of That 70's Show and she loved it, making me find it for her. She played it for days nonstop.

I hear her quiet breathing and occasionally her voice singing the words. I look over at her and she has a small smile on her pink lips, her eyes shut in contentment.

The tracks play over us and I remember the night I picked each one out, each one holding a reason. I'd made a few for Kelly, but they were just songs I know she'd think sweet and would make her happy. They weren't as openly honest as these.

She looks at me, her expression vague as Cath… played through the speakers and I dared to stare right back at her. Because she was Cath in every way.

And I had to add Samson by Regina Spektor. She giggles softly at first, probably thinking it was silly music for me to listen to with pianos and the gentle female voice. But after a moment, she bites her lip, reaching over and brushing my hair off my forehead, the way she'd do when we were watching a movie or driving in my car.

And I hate how Motion City Soundtrack captures us in our entirety. How I can't believe it was her that changed my perception. How she managed to break barriers probably without even realizing. When did all this sentimental shit happen?

And her eyes overflow at the chorus of "Hate To See You Go" and she wraps her arms around my neck and we cling to each other. My shoulder is wet, and I don't feel the nervousness like the day on Kelly's Ikea couch, holding a girl I shouldn't have, a girl who wasn't mine.

Though, she still isn't mine. But as her tears die down and her breathing evens out, I begin to think, maybe hope, that I captured her, if only for a little while.

She pulls away as the song ends and the stereo hums quietly. She leans her head back, looking up at me. The smile on her face is sad but steady and she grips my fingers tightly.

"Thank you." The words sink into the mattress.

She sighs in a defeated way. "I'm supposed to be with Jim," she says slowly. "And you… there's a girl out there for you." She winces slightly at the cheesiness of that statement.

"Maybe it's Kelly," she adds and we both grin slightly.

"I didn't give this to you to change your mind," I start but she cuts me off.

"I know. Ry, I know. But you're always going to be my friend, I promise." The familiar phrase falls flat and she looks pained as she says it. I feel as if everything has been rehearsed and I hate that.

She reaches forward, kissing my mouth gently and I touch her jaw, her skin smooth and lips gentle. This is all too familiar, the movements similar to last weeks, but I hold onto it.

She sighs, pulling back again and looking at me. I see that her eyes are shining and I can't tell what's behind them. I watch as she crawls off the bed, taking her coat off the desk chair. She fumbles with the stereo, tucking her CD back into the sleeve. That action alone makes this whole thing worth it because I know that at least she'll hold onto me for a while longer.

The moment feels so final, so definite. The look on her face is gentle, calm, soft. Words that describe her. She pulls her coat on and I sit up, my hair fluffed up messily in the back. And she's standing in the doorway and I know that nothing I say or do will make her stay.

I think she knows that too, because her farewell catches in her throat. "Bye Ryan," she murmurs loud enough for me to hear but quiet enough to be forgotten. And she turns away, my room feeling darker then ever.

I can't believe those are her final words to me, but what did I expect? Because life isn't always like Kelly's little movies. Sometimes the villain does win.

The logic sounds pathetic, even in my own mind. The only person he appears as a villain to is me. And most likely Dwight.

Fairy tale endings do happen. For other people, at least. The hero gets the girl and the princess gets her own happily ever after. I begin to hate that I'm relating to these cheesy, simpleton stories, attempting to apply my own life to them.

Maybe I could write a book and change the way fairy tales end. No one would read it. People only read those stories because it's the exact opposite of real life. Kelly wouldn't even be delusional enough to read it. Not that she reads anyway.

I don't know how long I lay in bed with these thoughts, these random pointless thoughts. They keep me from hearing the slamming front door and the sound of her car as she drives away.

I curl onto my side, resting my head against my pillow. The anticipation and nervousness of a few hours ago is long gone.

All I can feel now is the emptiness between my ribs and the coldness of my bedroom.


	9. Expectations

**Title: Expectations.**

**Summary: Just because people expect this of you, doesn't make it right. You deserve better then what people expect.**

**Author's Note: Woah, sorry it's been so long. Here is the last chapter of my first full length Office fic. Please be sure to check out Summer In The City, a current one I'm working on. Thanks for all my readers and all the comments and support. You guys are awesome.**

**PS: This is actually a new ending. I didn't dig the first one I had written up. And I'm sorry if there are grammar mistakes. I'll fix them tomorrow, I just wanted to post this as soon as possible.**

* * *

It's been a few weeks since that fateful day, since Pam stood in the doorway of my room. I remember waking up the next morning with a headache, like someone hit me in the head with a sledgehammer. I went to work that next day, figuring that life would be the same, just with a little bit more awkwardness and a lot more depression.

When I walk into the closet, Michael is sitting behind his desk crying. Pam isn't at the poker table like she usually is when I get there an hour late.

"Michael," I say, clicking the door shut behind me. He jumps a little bit, his face lifting up to look at me. "What's going on?"

He chokes and stammers in his dramatic Michael way. I assume that his goldfish died or something idiotic like that.

Then he mutters Pam's name and curses Dunder Mifflin a few times and scrunches his forehead in frustration, his eyes still glistening with tears and I get it. I get it.

She left. She fucking left. Just like that. And the OK feeling I was starting to feel, the idea of actually surviving this shit, it totally and completely disappears and I'm left with the feeling of disappointment and anger.

I drag my feet across the floor, dropping on the metal fold up chair. I blink a few times, looking around the room before looking over at Michael's hopeful face. "We'll find a new saleswoman," I tell him firmly. "A better one." And it's like I'm trying to convince myself and it hurts more then anything and God I want to get out of here.

Then Michael squeaks, bouncing out of his chair and leaping over towards me. I'm crushed against his chest, his arms wrapped tightly around me.

And I sigh, knowing that this is my life now, knowing that I wasn't like other people; I can't go up now. I'm just stuck.

Xxxx

I see her in the parking lot everyday after work and her smiles, they're tight lipped and fake but her eyes are apologetic and Jim's just standing there like he won a fucking marathon or something. I just walk to my car and drive off as quickly as I can.

Michael received a wedding invitation from Pam and Jim that week and he's waving it around, happy and crying like they all ready got fucking married. I found an invitation on my car.

I threw it into the trash without opening it. And fuck, I'm bitter. I'm too bitter.

xxxx

The wedding seems to pop up out of nowhere and I'm just pacing around my bedroom floor, concocting stupid plans that won't ever work but shit, I can dream and I will because I hate the fact that she's marrying him tomorrow and something needs to numb that.

I can't afford cocaine anymore. The best form of rehab, I suppose.

Maybe she'd be proud of me.

I haunt the house, restless and aggravated. It's getting later and later into the evening and the sky is getting grey and water is falling onto the cement, tapping on the windows like a song I once knew. The house is empty, kind of cold. I'm empty, kind of cold.

I don't think I've actually slept in weeks, not really. Haven't had a cigarette or a drink and it's not for lack of trying, I just have no energy for it.

Hair between fingers and eyes red, I rush out of the house in a moment of fanatical fury, my keys jingling in my jeans. Tugging the hood of my sweater over my head, I manage to stumble into my car, starting it and peeling from the driveway, probably burning rubber and hitting the curb, but my mind, it's pretty foggy right now. 8 months later, I'll tell this story and pretend to know what happened but really, it'll just feel like a dream I had and forgot the finer points of.

The streets don't look or feel familiar and I'm just finding their house by memory, tracing my way to her. It's stupid and pointless but if I don't do it, I'll spend the rest of forever saying 'what if' and I'm not going to regret anymore, thanks to her. She's reason enough to look stupid, she is, she is.

The rain is heavy by the time I pull up to the curb and I'm stepping into the thick sheets of it before I know it. I blink away the pellets as I jog quickly across the soggy grass, trekking up the stone steps.

My knock is loud, louder then I meant. But no one answers so I begin pounding harder, the door shaking underneath the contact but it's not opening, no one's there, and all the words I want to say are going to get lost and she won't ever hear them and I can't even say I tried.

I yell her name, stepping away from the door, panting slightly. I yell it again and again. After about five minutes, I hear my own name twisting with hers and I spin quickly on my heels, my back cricking slightly.

She's standing in the middle of the yard, in a sweatshirt and jeans, wet to the bone. Her hair is plastered to her face, her makeup smeared. And she's saying my name and I'm running to her like it's the fucking Notebook or something.

"Pam," I manage to gasp between chattering teeth. "Pam, listen, I need to talk to you…" I bend over, catching my breath, my ribs aching.

Her eyes are wide, her face in shock.

"Pam, hear me out. You can't do this. You can't. Just… I know you said that you guys are supposed to be together but I just… I don't think that's true. Because if you were, you wouldn't have left, you wouldn't have been with me. There's something there, in the back of your head that's telling you no, that this isn't right. And you just…"

I wipe my nose, rain dripping from it. "Just because people expect this of you, doesn't make it right. You deserve better then what people expect. You're smart enough to set your own bar. And maybe that bar isn't me and that's fine, but I know it's not Jim, it can't be Jim. He's not your bar. Please, just listen. It's not him. And you just want to secure your future so bad, that you don't see that, you don't want to see that. But you need to because you have this whole world to chase and you deserve better then being shackled to this shit town in a shit house with a shithead husband. You're better then that. Better then all of us."

And she's blinking, rain splattering from her lashes, her face pale and in shock. And I'm just rambling now, I'm just saying everything I wish I'd ever told her and I can't shut up. It's like a switch got turned on by accident and all this stupidity is just pouring from my mouth and why can't I shut up?

Then my mouth is filled with her tongue and I'm not sure if eventually I just grabbed her or she just was trying to shut me up, but I don't care. It's wet and sweet and real and my hands are grabbing her hair because I can't and won't let go of her this time.

But she's letting go of me, her palms on my chest, her tears mingling with water from the sky. "I can't, I can't, I can't."

But she can, she can, she can. I want to show her that, I want to be her bar.

She's not letting me talk, she's shoving me away, running across the lawn, her tennis shoes slipping against the grass, so green and bright against the dull and grey sky.

My heart's pounding and I'm standing alone out here like a fucking jackass and Christ, I can't believe this is happening. Maybe I can't fix what was doomed from the start.

Xxxxx

The sun peers through my blinds, seeping between my eyelids and making everything red and bright. I blink, staring up at the white ceiling. My body is still damp, even though it's been like eight hours since I was standing in her lawn. I feel asleep in my wet tee shirt. I was too exhausted to change.

Aching everywhere, I sit up slowly, not even believing I survived the shit storm last night, not believing I even made it home. My eyes are heavy, sticky.

I slip out of bed, fixing the waistband of my boxers more comfortably on my hips.

She's getting married today.

The fact that I at least tried doesn't matter now. Just the fact that I failed.

I stumble through my hallway, looking around my apartment, feeling disoriented, feeling like this wasn't where I should be.

Yawning, I reach towards the kitchen table for my phone, only it's not there. I left it in the car. Mumbling, I grab my keys instead, making way towards the door.

It's too fucking bright and warm and sunny and beautiful out. It's just ridiculous. It's like the universe enjoys shoving my failures in my face.

I see my car and blink. Like five hundred times. Because this can't be reality. Reality doesn't involve Pam sitting on the hood of my Neon, her wedding dress spread out over it, her hair unraveled and sitting on her shoulders, so perfect.

It's reality. I step towards her but stop because if I touch her she might disappear.

She slides off the car, stepping carefully over the curb, standing a foot in front of me.

"It's time for me to up my bar," she murmurs, purring, her smile gentle, sly, knowing.

And I'm dumbfounded as she reaches forward, kissing my mouth tenderly, fingers tugging at my hair.

My hands find her waist and I pull her close, the lace of her dress imprinted onto my skin.

"Don't set the bar too high," I tease into her ear and she laughs and last night and the past six months just melt away because we have now. We have her in my parking lot in a wedding dress. And that's basically perfect. That's exactly where the bar should be.


End file.
